A Word Edgewise
by
Mary Joe Clendenin |
 |
Last Updated 01/20/06
For more literature go
to Clendenin Books
Email: mjclen@our-town.com
Seeing The Ghost Of Jenny Is Unforgettable
Occasionally I hear
from people telling me of personal encounters with the ghost of Jenny Papworth, resident
Greens Creek, Alexander vicinity. Just last week I received an email story of such an
adventure, along with permission to retell it to you.
Michael
Jones said that even though the meeting was about twenty years ago, he distinctly
remembered every detail, because of the intense emotions seeing her ghost aroused in him.
Michael, of the Dallas area, was invited by his friend Paul to go with him to Stephenville
for the weekend. He was 16 at the time and Paul was a high school student in SHS. It was
wintertime with slushy rain and snow in Dallas, so Michael was ready for a little
adventure.
Stephenville
weather was not a great deal better, but Paul, his brother, another friend named Luke and
Michael were soon enjoying a typical teenage weekend. Paul’s brother had a band
practice scheduled, they all went to that, and then Luke and Paul told Michael that they
were taking him to see a ghost out in the country. They piled into Paul’s old
beat-up, ’65 Chevy pickup and headed for the haunted territory. Michael, judging his
companions by his own trickery thoughts, expected some major chicanery, but nature handled
the setting of the episode. It was about midnight with the fog lifting to reveal an ebony
sky with many stars gradually appearing. The moon was full, but Michael lost track of
directions, and after a few minutes of riding on a dirt country road, decided to just
enjoy the drive without worry about where they were going. The twisting road with strange
cane-like growth on both sides made him feel like an intruder. A huge reaching, withered
oak marked the turning point to an even less worn road which led down hill to a grove of
live oak trees and a shabby, one-lane bridge over a dry creek. The moonlight made the
shadows of the trees deep and dark, setting the stage, Michael thought, for a friend of
his companions to jump out with an eerie scream and scare him.
With
Michael sitting in the middle of the seat, no one getting out of the truck, they stayed
while minutes crept by. Finally, Michael asked what was going on. They explained that the
McDow Hole ghost was supposed to threaten all who trespassed on her property. They told
Michael her history; how she and her baby were murdered in the 1800s, and their bodies
dumped in the area. She was supposed to be roaming the area looking for her babe. Michael
admitted it was a great story and they were doing a good job of giving him the creeps, so
they continued to sit there for about an hour and a half, discussing that ghost and others
they had heard of. They were beginning to get cold and feel cramped in that seat. Sitting
in the middle between two big people, not small himself, Michael began to complain, and
told the other two that their friends were not coming. He was ready to go back.
About
that time Paul, who was on the driver’s side, twitched, and then really jumped and
pointed up the creed. “Look!” he said. Michael had to lean forward to see over
Paul—then he felt an adrenaline rush like none he had ever felt before, in spite of
having lived through many exciting, life-threatening adventures. With his eyes adjusted to
the moonlight after their long stay, he kept trying to focus and refocus, because at first
the figure of the woman in the creek bed below them grew hazy, and then more distinct,
changing as if with waves of energy.
Michael
explained, “She seemed young in appearance, wearing a long, pleated skirt or dress
with long sleeves. She had long, wispy hair and not really an unpleasant expression on her
face, which was plain, but somewhat pretty. I suppose, by today’s standards you would
say, an “earthy” look. She was white and translucent, almost smoky or cloudy,
and then would slowly become less “see-through”, and her features would sharpen,
much like bringing a camera into focus.” Michael said she was sitting on a large rock
part of the time, would almost disappear, and then materialize standing a short distance
away. He was in shock. Amazement, terror, joy, horror, excitement—the emotions of a
lifetime seemed to sweep over him in a few seconds. They must have sat there stunned for
about a minute. He looked at Paul to find a mirror of his own expression, but when he
turned to Luke the expression was different. He was astonished, but he also wore a big
grin, as if he had been waiting a long time for this dream to materialize. “Just wait
until she starts walking down the creek screaming!” Luke said. “No. Let’s go!” Michael said to Paul. Then
the terror really began! They had been sitting there for over an hour with the radio on
very low. No matter, the battery was down. With pitiful, sickly grounds, the starter
protested slower and slower. Finally, when Michael thought he couldn’t stand it a
second longer, it caught and started. One last look assured him that the ghost hadn’t
moved. Even when they had to drive across the rickety bridge to turn and leave, she only
sat and watched.
Time
passes. Michael still lives in the Dallas area and is a graphic artist, but he wanted me
to know that Jenny made his weekend in Stephenville one that he would remember the rest of
his days.
Thanks, Michael, for telling
me your story.